Russian is not so scary. Teapot-day, or the Russian flinc is not as scary as its drunken crew...
Some time ago, I, a lady who travels often and a lot, decided to spend another vacation abroad. Tormented by a difficult choice between Tunisia, Jordan and the Emirates, I, once again confirming the color of my hair, ended up... in Thailand. I completely submitted to the charm of this country and lost the remnants of vigilance and common sense, with which I am generally friends from time to time. In short, I booked an excursion called “Extreme Tour”, forgetting to look at my passport and check how old I actually was.
It all started quite happily - a bus, chock-full of the same adrenaline junkies, was taken to an orchard, which was given to us for complete plunder. Having learned that you can eat everything you can reach, the swarming lump of compatriots fell out of the bus, easily making a clearing in the tropical thickets. Jumping, afraid of being late, I rushed after, brushing off the Thai who was chasing us with a huge cleaver as I went. Having finally caught the slight person, entangled in the vegetation and hopelessly lagging behind, he tried to explain to her with gestures that with his terrifying weapon he would cut off everything that her darling wanted, and even clean it. But what Russian as a child did not climb through other people’s gardens, sweetly transfixed by the process itself and hastily stuffing into his bosom the same apples that made the branches in his own garden bend?.. In a word, after our invasion one could safely put an end to the plantation - a couple of plants were tied in a knot, the rest acquired a distinct resemblance to Chinese characters and lost much of their above-ground part. And we stubbornly made our way further, coming across a mango. Each fruit was... carefully packed in a canvas bag!!! This is how local agronomists, it turns out, fight pests. No, the East is a delicate matter. Instantly imagining how, on lovingly nurtured six hundred square meters, restless grannies sew such vests for cherries, I almost choked on the spiky skin of the “dragon’s eye.” The color, by the way, is absolutely beetroot. It’s no different that their dragons are hungover, like most of my colleagues on the tour, which turned out to be literally around the next corner. Afterwards we were invited to try the famous durian, a delicacy with the taste of Heaven and the smell of Hell. They say about it that eating it has such a beneficial effect on men that the Thais even have a separate saying about this. The general meaning is something like this: “whoever eats durian, the edges of his tunic immediately rise up”... The male part of our group instantly perked up, and the expression in the eyes of their spouses acquired a vaguely dreamy expression. But, having learned that this insidious fruit is categorically incompatible with alcohol (give or take eight hours...), they withered right before our eyes, sadly swallowing saliva... Suspiciously sniffing, I received a piece of an unearthly delicacy and, preparing to immediately feel myself in Paradise, bitten. Dull and disgusting, like raw dough, the insidious fruit refused to even stink, and under the noise I threw it away. The edges of my tunic were safe. But the consumption of exotic longans and lychees by domestic stomachs, more accustomed to beets and gooseberries, turned out to be the first number of difficult tests, conceived by the Thais with truly oriental cunning for the gullible Russians. Refreshed and rejuvenated, comfortably laying their stuffed bellies under the bus air conditioners, the marauders were taken to further extreme adventures...
Russia continues to do everything possible to improve in the eyes of Europeans. After the sensational events at Euro 2016, we have to prove that the fighters in the port of Marseille are only a small part of the multi-million army of fans, most of whom are friendly towards foreigners. The BBC's film, which once again questioned the adequacy of the decision to hold the World Cup in Russia, also tarnished its reputation. The day before, a friendly match between Russian and Belgian fans took place in Sochi.
Are there really those who were not afraid of traveling to an unfriendly country? Yes, there were about thirty of them. “We assembled the team right on the bus,” the Red Devils captain said with a laugh. Before the TV interview, the smiling, bespectacled man had a three-pronged pitchfork attached to his T-shirt, an obligatory devilish attribute, but the Belgian did not look more menacing. In general, everyone on their team turned out to be “darlings” - open, constantly laughing and looking positively at what was happening around them. Maybe that's the whole point? It is known that “whoever comes to us with a sword will die by the sword.” Much depends on how you behave towards others. If you don’t trample on someone else’s flag, saying “fuck” to everyone in a drunken voice, nothing bad will happen.
Everyone is as open as possible to us,” admitted a fan named Girt. This guy knows who Alexander Kokorin is! This is actually fantastic because oh Russian football our yesterday's rivals know practically nothing. You can verify this in one of tomorrow’s materials.
“I understand perfectly well that in Russia not everyone is like those guys who fought in France,” continued Girt. - Personally, I don’t know a single person who is really afraid to come to your World Cup. Yes, there are doubters, but they are a minority.
After the final whistle, the European guests fraternized with the Russians, despite losing with a score of 8:12. There should have been more as the hosts relaxed into a 4-0 lead.
To be honest, we went a little overboard, because we promised not to win by more than three goals,” admitted one of the players of the Russian fans’ team, Ivan Ryndin, laughing.
It is worth adding that the hosts were mainly residents of Sochi, including such an interesting character as Dmitry Drofichev - the leader of the community of indigenous inhabitants of the Imereti Lowland, Old Believers, descendants of the Don Cossacks and oppositionists to the church reform of the 17th century. The result of his activities, for example, was the preservation of the Old Believer cemetery in the center Olympic Park And Better conditions resettlement
It’s nice to receive feedback from fans from other countries,” said Vladimir Markin, head of the RFU Committee on Security and Work with Fans. - The expression fits: “The devil is not as scary as he is painted.” Those Belgians who came to Sochi are lucky. They saw with their own eyes that in Russia it is not scary, but quite the opposite. The Belgians really enjoyed it. I hope that they, as cartoonists, will tell their friends that you can always come to Russia, and not necessarily for some major events.
You can't argue with Markin. When, after the final whistle of the evening match, which ended with a disappointingly missed victory for the guests, the Kuban Cossack Choir performed a concert for them right at the Fisht, the Belgians were delighted with such a reception. Remember how recently English fans were given warm blankets at Olimp-2 before the match between Rostov and Manchester United. Perhaps we will be able to convince the Europeans that they will be welcome in Russia.
SochiChapter 1: Kettle-DAY
The reason for fishing was very significant. But if we speak correctly, the reason was not for fishing, but without fishing our preparations, never got by. And if you consider that this is not just one of the Club’s trips to just eat kebab, but the Club’s third anniversary, then the action is three times more interesting.
It must be said that ordinary fishermen were also invited to this event. That is, those who have nothing to do with Gazelle cars, but have something to do with fishing. The point was that we were going to hold a fishing competition with a purely symbolic prize - a bottle of whiskey. They could also “fight” in teams - gazellists against fishermen. But none of the fishermen came. Either they were afraid of the gloomy sky in the morning, or suddenly everyone’s hooks suddenly became dull, or they were afraid of the evil St. Petersburg newspaper writers snapping their teeth like wolves. There were none of them. As a result, the St. Petersburg newspaper writers had to take the rap for everyone. And there was shish kebab to eat from the freshest lamb and pork, and shurpa, and fried pike aspic in egg, and June mushroom asp made from red and chanterelles.. The gazellists had to eat everything. Well, they are no strangers. Professionals are...
I’ll say right away that there are no multi-kilogram trophies there. Don't get your hopes up. Fishing there is what is called “labor fishing”. Marriages have nothing to do there either - the result will be zero by their standards. Either marriages were eliminated years earlier, or the lake itself is like that. Or maybe there are trophies in one dark place, but we have never gotten them before. Although they tried more than once. This is in a bay where the depth is 8-10 meters. So in the lake the average depth is 3-4 meters, with some places up to 5-6 meters. There is also an underwater low ridge (determined experimentally a long time ago using an anchor). And above this ridge, around 7-8 pm, the best perch fishing is on the path. I would have told all this to all the competing fishermen, but... Firstly, no one came, and secondly, those who came didn’t even listen. Like they themselves are cool as overcooked eggs and they themselves know where everything is and how. Oh well..
I released all the perches. There were a lot of them, but they didn’t interest me in principle. I hunted exclusively for pike. And if I had brought all my bass to camp, I would have had the whiskey. But that would be a little cheating on my part.
I know that the pike there is not large. The biggest one I saw was about one and a half kilograms (Sergeich pulled it out). The usual weight for this body of water is half a kilogram. This is apparently due to the poor food supply in the lake itself and easily predictable winter fish kills.
By the way, I will assume that the lake is connected to other lakes by underground streams. I’m not a lake expert, of course, but the water goes somewhere. Where? Two slow-flowing streams flow into the lake, and I didn’t see an exit anywhere. About 7 kilometers south is the Gulf of Finland. But it is lower on the horizon. Our lake is on the mountain. By the way, it’s surprising that there are no mosquitoes there. And there are no ants. Strange. But this time I saw a copperhead. This is a snake. And I saw it for the first time. I had never seen a snake there before. There are midges, but not much and not for long. will soon pass.
I don’t know about the competitors, but I had a lot of bites. Distinct pike bites. Moreover, the pike is small or simply medium-sized. Either from the shore or from the boat to the path. Why small pike? And the bites were clear and fierce. My hand was shaking. Perch and large pike bite differently. Perch with a short, clear poke, and large pike with a pulling blow. Even with an indirect blow, you immediately understand that a decent specimen has landed. And the small pike hits the hand with shot, even tearing the whip out of your hands. I’ll say right away that I didn’t catch a pike this time. But there was one “pike” observation phenomenon. And very funny. About him below.
Needless to say, any fishing trip is always about observing nature. So it is here. The most interesting thing was to watch the windows. The way they chased lures, it was a circus. A spoon is coming, and a whole flock of perch is chasing after it. Almost racing and almost pushing each other. Moreover, most often the fish are maybe only twice the size of the spinner itself. And everyone strives to bite the spinner. Some bit successfully. Successful for me. But, since I was fundamentally not interested in perch, I was an honest competitor, and, as I already said, I let everyone go.
It was very funny to tease the small fish with an ordinary small ultralight spoon-type spinner in a plumb line. Where the depth near the shore is up to the meter. You lift the spinner, then suddenly lower the whip and the spinner flips over and floats to the bottom. Boom! The spinner hits the bottom, the holes come running. I moved it a little, a cloud of turbidity rose, and the curious came closer. A slight tug upwards - everything is loose, and a couple of the most curious ones behind the spoon go up. And so on several times. At some point, the bravest (or hungry) is the one who grabs the lure! And I got caught. A minute and he returns to his native element. I'm letting go. And some immediately give in, while others stand still and then slowly leave. Otherwise he will turn around and stand looking at you. Thinking about something or saying what he wants? Interesting..
In general, the water in the lake is fairly clear. On the neighboring forest lakes the water is dark and peaty, but here it is slightly yellowish, but transparent. Deeply visible. In Polaroids, you can generally see a depth of one and a half meters, no less. Forest Lake - don't forget. The bottom is sandy and rocky. Apparently the incoming water is filtered in the streams. The water in the streams is quite dark. One of these lakes has peat water and is connected by a stream to our lake. Dark peaty water comes out and clean water comes in. And in the place where it flows into Pletnevoye there is the main spawning ground for pike. You can’t approach there from the shore - you will fall underground and into the water (on top there is a layer of earth and roots with trees, and under the layer there is water - the lake and stream have washed away and washed away the earth from below, a normal phenomenon), so only from a boat.
But let's get back to our competition.. In general... Well, in short... Well... In other words, it won't happen like that. There were two quite serious fishermen in our company. Me and Zhenya. If we collect all the fish we caught, we can open a fish cannery. Moreover, we also caught some serious fish. All kinds of asps, salmon, chub... I’m not talking about pike at all - as a mandatory program in figure skating. Roach, perch - these are all just rubbish and small things. In general, Zhenya and I were the most venerable fishermen among all. These are important, we have normal spinning rods, reels, all sorts of cords. Even the Kuusamov spinners - Zhenya showed me, yeah... I have an ultralight... Serious people. What is there to say? This is not bullshit for you...
In other words, everything was wrong this time. We got caught!!! And it would be nice if we were caught by even more venerable and more lure-armed fishermen. But we were caught... No.. This is unbearable.. This is a disgrace.. Does anyone have poison? We were caught by a boy of about eight years old (the son of Nastya, a member of our Club) and Ilya, a member and one of the administrators of our Club, who caught a pike for the first time. Moreover, according to him, it was the most big fish generally caught by him. Before that, he kept amusing himself with saberfish at the Rybinsk Reservoir.
And if Dimka the boy caught the largest pike (almost 600 grams), then Ilya caught a slightly smaller one with a completely incorrectly assembled spinning rod (see photo). They don’t catch that way.. And in the photo it’s the wobbler he caught. Here I will allow myself to cling to someone else’s glory - the wobbler is mine, I just lent it to Ilyukha. And the biggest pike, Dimkina, was caught by Zhenya’s spinning rod. Well, Dimka didn’t have a spinning rod. Where? So Zhenya let it go. On my fishing head... By the way, it was also caught on my wobbler. Just like Zhenya is like a trophy..
The third heaviest pike was caught by Zhenya. Almost reaching half a kilo. I, as I already said, caught about eighteen kilograms of fish, but let them all go. So I ended up missing out on the prize, and our entire company was without the gorgeous perch sprats... This is what fishing honesty can lead to. Sometimes it really doesn’t hurt to lie. People should not feel hungry in nature.. Especially if the freshest lamb kebab is not ready by that time.
As a result, at the awards ceremony for all our club nominations, Dimka was awarded a real Certificate as the “Best Angler of the St. Petersburg Gazelle Club.” Well, don’t pour him whiskey. Still too small for whiskey and alcohol in general. We eventually figured out where to put the whiskey.
Chapter 2: The Russian FLINC is not as scary as its drunken crew..
Everyone knows that with a company of Russian men all sorts of unexpected incidents always happen. This is an absolutely normal phenomenon and clearly distinguishes Russian men from, say, American men. Those are entirely glamorous blacks, and ours are entirely super-heroes. Especially when everyone has at least three hundred grams in their foreheads. Cutting a rail with a chainsaw? Uh, this is for ours.. Well, you’ll think that the chainsaw is broken. But they tried to cut it? We tried! What? Didn't you saw it? And a fic with her...
There were three of us... Three in Russian mythology is generally a unique number. No wonder they say - “Three heroes”, “For three”, “Three minnows”.. So.. The last one is from “Pinocchio”. This is not ours. So there were three of us. And we, all three of us, with three spinning rods (of which two are ultralight, and one is a pure trout “noodle”), on one boat -By the way, we went to catch crocodile pikes on the path. Well, in the newfangled way - engage in trolling. Trolling is not what you think. This is different. This is from fishing...
Yes! I didn't introduce us! Let me introduce myself - lieutenants Rzhevsk... not that again... my friends - Zhenya, Vanya and I are in their company. All four of us boarded this boat and set sail. Four? Why four? And we forgot the fourth one on the shore. I fell asleep at the most crucial moment somewhere near a coastal pine tree. Who? I don’t know who the fourth is! Here they landed... I don’t remember.. I remember that there was a fourth, but I don’t remember who it was.. Leave me alone! Find it if you want...
We settled down.. Well, Zhenka zhzhzhuk! He came up with an excuse that he was driving and sat down in the stern, supposedly at the tiller. Vanya means on the front can, and I was stuffed into the bow of the boat. And at least Vanya would move the can a little back, towards the stern. And then he sat down like in a theater. Me too - I found an opera lover. Don’t you want some buffoonery, Vanya? No? Well then, get hit in the liver (that was the first time).
Somehow we were accommodated in the spacious hold of the FLINC (And it is, seriously, quite spacious. The cockpit of the boat is meant.) there were four of us.. Although we never found the fourth and that means we were sailing in three. So the three of us set sail.. As in song: “Ah, a white ship, a running wave...” In our version:
“Oh, gray-gray Flink!
Running wave!
The cry of seagulls for food,
Zhenya is an alarming bass!”
Here I must say that Vanya got hit in the liver again (he was sitting with his back to me). Well, judge for yourself - it throws it exactly where I was going to throw it. And it would be okay if it happened on the shore. I would give him a kick, not in the liver, and drive him away from this place. But here we are in the boat.. The three of us.. We didn’t take the dog.. Although there was some kind of dog running around there. From a neighboring company. So cheerful, playful... So here we are in the boat, the boat is floating and the baits on the fishing line would get tangled if it weren’t for my powers of observation and Vanya’s liver. It cost him a lot that I explained that you can’t throw two spinning rods at the same time from one side - they will get confused.. How naive I was...
When a boat goes in a straight line, and there are three fishing hussars in it at the same time and all three are on one side, then that’s nothing. When the boat needs to be turned.. It’s also tolerable.. Let’s lower the mat.. But when the boat needs to be turned. When Zhenya began to turn the boat around, I showed humanity and pulled my wobbler out of the water. Vanya's liver was saved. The boat turned around safely. Either the tiller hussar Zhenka figured out to shift his spinning rod to the other side, or the turning radius helped, but they turned around quite successfully and almost didn’t even hit the shore on board. We landed a little. Somehow we pushed off from the shore and managed to swim about ten meters away from it. Here (sorry, I didn’t have time to follow) Vanya with a joyful cry of “Shcha, boys, I’ll throw it there!” throws the wobbler towards the shore. But he didn’t know that in his hands he had a noodle trout spinning rod of the ultralight class and a test of 1-7... And his wobbler was probably 12 grams. This spinning rod throws zero-point spinners over the horizon, and here is a twelve-gram tacked brick and ten meters to the shore... Well, in general, this wobbler flew somewhere into the bushes on the shore. Dust... Judging by our heroic mood, this will all last for a long time. Zhenya and I instantly realized... well, instantly... well, we realized... So Zhenya and I realized that the boat would not stand still. Naturally, it won’t be - there’s a little wind and Zhenya didn’t turn off the engine while turning it (well, at least at first speed, and there are five speeds). And our fishing lines will inevitably get mixed up. I managed to pull it out. Because even on the shore I washed down my wine with milk. By the way, it’s delicious.. But Zhenya didn’t have time.
But then our Vanya managed to tear his wobbler out of the bushes. And he turned around. Well, why he needed to turn to us is still a mystery. Of course, Vanya turned with his whole body, the spinning rod in his hands like a spear at the monument. Iron kaput Vanya. Simply put, Vanya’s cord and Zhenkin met.. The cord is not a fishing line - it won’t get by with simple swearing. And so it happened...
Do you think that's the end of it? Ha! Nooo... After they got untangled... If you can call it “untangled” - they simply burned the cords with lighters and tied them up. But before that, before they “unraveled,” while they were unraveling, I knew for myself that I was throwing the unhooked one into the coastal water lilies. By that time, we had already been washed ashore by the wind. I felt a couple of specific bites, which made me think that something was wrong with my non-hooking ones. Which then, the next day, was confirmed visually... About what, again below. But let's return to our hussars in the boat. These two gavriks got unraveled and had enough sense to swim away from the shore. They threw it in.. And what do you think? Vanya was overwhelmed again. Now with me. A poke in the liver with a fist, exclamations for mother, and we begin to unravel. More precisely, I'm starting to unravel. Because Vanya completely lost his trust and was sent... to sit in silence under the splash of small evening waves... To breathe in the vibes. But for some reason Vanya didn’t let up, he babbled something (he can do it, he’s such a babble) and looked at me with indignation. And I’m confused about him. What's happened? Why is there a wobbler on his line in his hands when I am holding a wobbler on his line in my hands? Some kind of rebus... Something is wrong here..
Well, of course.. This... uh... Vanya... So it was Vanya who burned out his cord. Kind of unraveled. But three hundred “on the forehead” is not one hundred and fifty. This is more serious. It turns out he simply tied on a new leash and attached another wobbler. And this one somehow ended up under my casting. Either it floated away, or the wind lifted the cord. In general, I fought, as it turned out, with windmills. Don Quixote, damn it...
ENDING
A little later, but on the same evening, when I surrendered Vanya and Zhenya under the watchful eyes of our clubmates, Ilya and I (the same one who took second place in the fishing competition) went to increase the price together. This is someone with whom it is a pleasure to treasure. Neither you have Zhenka’s babbling (by the way, when Zhenya has zero “in his forehead”, then everything is fine), nor you of Vanka’s incessant rattling (this one has at least zero “in his forehead”, even a barrel - one fic rumbles incessantly).. Silence, peace and symmetry. Ilyukha threw it in one direction, I threw it in the other. So we sail for ourselves. The lake itself is not big and we thought that we would make a couple of circles and go to the shore. The motor, by the way, is electric.
And then an interesting coincidence happened. Ilya caught a pike. "Oh!" - he says, “I caught something.” And he looks at me, as if asking what to do. Well, I show with gestures - “Drag!”
If you, super-kosher glamorized fishermen a la “I read Kuzmin”, who are sick from just looking at something that does not correspond to pro-Kuzmin stereotypes, you would have seen HOW Ilyushkin’s spinning rod was equipped. I took a photo. Look! Don't say that you can't catch it. Can! You just need to fish, and not have a glamorous “nose fi”. Ilyukha took it and caught it. Just caught it. Incorrectly assembled tackle. And it would never have occurred to him that the tackle was assembled incorrectly (it’s inconvenient to simply cast, but it doesn’t matter) if I hadn’t told him about it. And he would continue to catch it. And I’m sure that I wouldn’t be left without a catch. Because it doesn’t matter to the fish whether the tackle is assembled correctly or not.
In general, Ilya pulled out a pike. And then... In the silence a cry is heard - “Abdullo! Set it on fire!!!” And this is how the shooting began, I’ll tell you... And it was our people who came up with fireworks from a raft from the surface of the lake and implemented the idea. I don’t know what it looked like from the shore, but from the water at a distance it looked very cool. I suspect that Ilya and I got the most best places in this theater.
And the next day I fished more from the shore. I also went out on a boat a couple of times, but mostly from the shore. And again the perch collection, clear pike bites. Everything is small. I released the perch, but the pike did not land. But in one place I saw an interesting picture. There, in that place, there was a car tire lying in the water (this is in a forest lake). And then I caught it with a mystic, non-catchable wobble. I drive slowly, and I always take my time without getting caught. And then, when the spinner had almost passed the tire and was moving on, a pike suddenly jumped out from behind it (the tire), probably about half a kilo, with a jerk it caught up with the spinner and so leisurely - ah!.. In general, it looked very funny. She jumped up and opened her mouth and took the spinner. And looks at me. Naturally I stopped the wiring. I don’t know how it turned out this way. Somehow intuitive. And I also look at the pike. They probably looked at each other for a second. There the depth is probably knee-deep and everything is clearly visible. Moreover, I was wearing Polaroids. Then I took it and hooked it. It would be better if I didn't do this. I wonder what would happen next. But the pike didn’t notice, it opened its mouth slightly, the spoon jumped out and the pike quickly turned, but not like lightning, and went somewhere...
It was then that I realized why there were really a lot of bites on this mystical non-hooking bait, but there were no implementations. Only once did a chub land in the Tver Ursa, but even then it got off. I took a closer look at the spoon and it became clear to me that it simply slipped out of the fish’s mouth without detecting it. The solution is simple - just bend the hook so that it looks more upward and not parallel to the plane of the spoon. True, it didn’t help me on the same day yet. And it was time to go home, everyone was already getting ready and we had to finish fishing that day.
